Dawn had just broken and the sun crested the tops of the peach and merlinna trees in the Prince orchard when Harry mounted his Firebolt and flew for the first time in over three weeks. He had asked Severus last night for the broom and turned in his Broom For An Afternoon pass he'd won at Dragons Wild. Actually, Severus had agreed to let him have the broom for a whole day, provided Harry didn't get into any trouble with it. Harry had sworn by Merlin and his wizard's oath he would stay out of trouble, and he did not intend to be foresworn.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw his beloved Firebolt hanging on the wall and he just had to jump out of bed, throw on some clothes and go flying. Draco was still snoozing in the next bed, he'd used his own Sleep Away A Day pass for today, so Harry was sure he wouldn't see the blond poke his nose out of doors until one o'clock, at the earliest.

Harry curved the Firebolt in and out of the orchard, brushing up on his turns and aerial maneuvers. He hadn't lost his old skill on a broom, but he thought his reflexes might be a hair too slow and he needed to work to regain the edge he'd had before his punishment. As a Seeker, he couldn't afford to be a fraction of a second off, or he'd miss the Snitch. He resolved to speak to his father and explain that he needed to practice with his broom at least a week before school began, so he didn't lose his edge, and didn't have to bust his arse the way he usually did to bring himself back to the competitive edge he needed to play Quidditch after spending the summer with the Dursleys. Talent was all well and good, but practice was essential in order to be at the top of his game.

Surely Severus would understand, he knew how much Harry loved flying and being the Gryffindor Seeker. After all, Severus had played Quidditch too at school, he'd been a Chaser, until a Bludger to the face had nearly ended his life, not to mention his career as a Chaser. After that, Severus had decided it wasn't worth it and concentrated on academics and potions and Defense.

"So my natural ability on a broom is inherited too, huh, Dad?" Harry had remarked after Severus had told him that little tidbit about his schooldays.

"It would seem so, Harry. Your old man was no slouch on a broom once upon a time. That's why I referee some of the matches at school. Dumbledore knows that I know every trick in the book and I can spot a foul in an instant, and catch the offender if he or she refuses to stop when I call them out."

"Has that ever happened?"

"Once or twice." His father scowled. "And the student has always been suspended from the team afterwards for at least three weeks."

Harry winced, but then said, "They had to be idiots, not to stop when you told them to, Dad."

"They were, though two of them were from my House and assumed my command was for everyone except Slytherins. I soon taught them the error of their ways."

I'll just bet you did! Harry thought with a smirk. No one crosses Severus Snape and gets off scot free. Especially not if you're his son or a member of his House. He glanced speculatively at his parent before saying, "Maybe someday, when I finally get my broom back for good, we can play some Quidditch?" He then wondered if Severus would refuse, for he had always sneered at Harry for being Seeker before. Then again, that was when Snape had thought Harry was James's son, and perhaps his scorn had not been for Harry's position as Seeker, but for his following in James's footsteps.

Severus must have recognized the wistful and hopeful tone in Harry's voice, for he said, "Yes . . .once you've served your punishment, I wouldn't mind playing a game with you and Draco as well. But . . .you still have another four weeks of your punishment, son."

And Harry had groaned, then produced his pass, and won back his Firebolt for a day.

He glided easily around the small Anjou pear tree, heading towards the merlinna trees, where he could pick the ripe fruit by the dawn's early light, another reason he was awake at the crack of dawn. He had developed a fondness, no, more of an addiction, to merlinna fruit and juice since coming to the manor, and he hadn't had fresh fruit in a week because he'd been too tired to get up at dawn and pick some.

He had a small satchel over one shoulder, and he used this to put the merlinnas in. He hovered right next to the first tree in the row, and began to gently pluck the purplish-red heart-shaped fruit from the branches and slip them gently inside the satchel. The trees rarely had more than twenty fruits ripening at a time, merlinna were a fae fruit and did not follow ordinary laws when producing fruit. Severus had once speculated that the merlinna would produce fruit in abundance so long as the heir to Prince Manor was in residence, or the heir apparent, and when absent, the merlinnas would grow dormant.

Harry supposed his father was right in that theory, since the trees now grew more fruit than when Harry had first come to the manor months ago. He recalled reading in Sev Half-Blood's journal that the land and the lord were one, and in Merlin's time, the lord was bonded to his land, and it reflected the state of the lord's mind and health. If the lord were well, the land prospered, crops were plentiful and herds increased dramatically. But if the lord grew ill or turned evil, the land reflected that as well, crops withered, herds died, and the people were miserable.

Perhaps that was what was happening here, Harry mused, moving onto the next tree and stripping that one bare of fruit also. Everything grows like crazy here, all I have to do is spit and a plant appears, practically. Aunt Petunia would love it here, she always loved a productive garden. I wonder where she is and how she and Dudley are doing now that the fat bastard is dead? He made a mental note to ask Severus if he knew the whereabouts of the remaining Dursleys, because Harry would like to write to them.

And pray that they get the letter and it doesn't get lost or whatever, like Sirius's. He was still awaiting a reply from his godfather, so far he'd heard nothing from the man since he had written him informing him that he was Severus's son and not James's. Harry didn't know what to make of the other's silence . . .was it an angry refusal to accept that Harry was Severus's son? Or was it an awkward silence, and Harry could hold out hope that Sirius would accept him, no matter who his father was?

As he pondered, his hands worked busily, plucking the fruit and sticking it in his satchel. He had enough in there now to satisfy his craving for juice for another week and he hoped that all he gathered now would be enough to last him for another two weeks, at least. Draco also liked merlinnas, but he wasn't addicted to them the way his foster brother was, and he once teased Harry about his eating so many merlinnas, saying that if Harry weren't careful, he'd turn into a merlinna from constant exposure. Harry had just ignored him and ate another from the bowl of fresh fruit that was always upon the kitchen table.

He had just finished with the second tree and was moving over to the next when he heard it.

A soft cry, like that of a small animal.

Harry cocked his head, wondering if he had imagined it. He knew there were wild animals that lived in the small wood on the manor grounds, but so far the only animals he had seen had been a few deer, birds, rabbits, and squirrels.

The cry came again, and this time Harry knew he was not imagining it. It sounded desperate and more like a cat meowing than anything else Harry could name. Filled with a strange sense of urgency, he turned his broom towards the small vegetable garden bordering the orchard.

He touched down lightly in front of a patch of lettuces, peering about for the hurt cat or whatever it was.

:Help me!:

Harry rubbed his eyes. For just an instant, he could have sworn someone had yelled "Help me" into his ear. But there was no one out here except himself. "I must be dreaming," he muttered. "Draco's sleeping like the dead and Dad's down in his lab experimenting with a new type of Dreamless Sleep potion. Pull yourself together, Harry. Insanity shouldn't be setting in this early."

Again came that faint plaintive mewing.

:Help me! I beg of you!:

Now Harry really jumped out of his skin. "Okay, this isn't funny any more. Who said that?"

:I did. Look down, clumsy Tall One.:

Harry knelt down, praying this wasn't some kind of hallucination, and immediately spied a limp black form huddled under the second head of lettuce. "Huh? What in Merlin's name are you?" he asked, moving the lettuce aside so he could see the creature lying beneath it.

The creature resembled a tiny black cat, it was no bigger than Harry's hand and wrist lengthwise, but it had large wings attached to its shoulderblades, wings that were in tatters, and the tiny animal had its eyes closed and was breathing in shallow painful gasps. It appeared to have gotten into a fight with something that had left large gashes in its side, as far as Harry could tell.

He extended a hand and said softly, "Hey. My name is Harry and if you'll lie still, maybe I can help you."

One eye opened cautiously, it was a vivid purple color. :Hurry, human. My strength fades.:

His mouth fell open. "Holy Merlin! You can speak!"

The strange creature's eye closed then, too exhausted to keep it open. Harry tried to recall if he'd read about such creatures in Severus Prince's journal, but couldn't recall his ancestor describing anything like this. Harry gently slid a palm beneath the injured creature, holding it flat like a stretcher.

It barely weighed anything, and Harry quickly mounted his broom, flying as quickly and as cautiously as he dared back to the house. The little winged cat hadn't stirred since encountering Harry, and the Gryffindor could tell that it hadn't had much to eat recently, its ribs were starting to show through the soft pelt.

"Don't worry. I'm taking you to my father, Professor Snape. He's a Potions Master, maybe he can heal you." Harry told it, trying to reassure it.

He practically ran down the hall and banged loudly on the lab door, which Severus had locked. "Dad? Come here, quickly! I need your help."

"Harry? Just a minute."

Harry could hear his father moving about inside, then the door was thrown open and Severus stood there, his brow creased with worry. "What happened, son? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. But this-whatever it is-isn't and I don't know what to do to help it get well."

Severus peered at the tiny cat with the tattered wings and cursed softly under his breath. "Bring it inside the lab, Harry. And hurry, I don't think it's got much time."

Harry followed practically on Severus's heels. "Dad, what is this creature?"

Severus was silent for a minute, his brain focusing on how he was going to save this tiny thing and what potions he would need. Then he blinked and said quietly, "It's called a shimmerling, Harry. And I think it's dying."